


Affiance

by InvalidUser1D



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Death, Death Eaters, Draco is a whiny brat, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione Granger is a Malfoy, Minor Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pride and Ego, Romance, Slow Build, lol, lots of death, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvalidUser1D/pseuds/InvalidUser1D
Summary: It’s 1998, and The Boy Who Lived has died at the hands of Voldemort. As the Wizarding World shifts into a divided new normal, Draco finds himself in a situation far less than ideal when he accidentally brings a certain Muggle-born witch back to Malfoy Manor. It is then that Draco finds himself failing to satisfy the Dark Lord’s missions, and is faced with the ultimate punishment for his carelessness—marriage to a “Mudblood”. Draco and Hermione then must learn what it means to be partners in multiple senses of the word, and how to rely on each other if they wish to get out of their circumstances..alive.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 9





	Affiance

PART I

_“…But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage_

_Can seldom see through his bars of rage_

_His wings are clipped and his feet are tied_

_So he opens his throat to sing…”_

_-Maya Angelou_

May 1998

DRACO

Death.

That could be the only possible explanation for the smell that filled the Spring air. Fresh and old blood, as well as carcasses lay about. Some had familiar faces, like Hannah Abbot who was laying off to the left outside the courtyard. Even in death, the bubbly girl still appeared as though there were traces of life left within her, though it was clear there was not. Her body was among many others that hadn’t been brought back inside yet. And while it seemed disrespectful to the dead to leave them in their final places, there were just so many to find. _Too_ many. And there were others without familiar faces. Younger ones who had fought diligently for a purpose and left this world without achieving it. Their fight was for nothing. Their lives ended for nothing. It often times scared Draco to know that eventually, one day, your life could end so suddenly. One wrong move—one toe out of line— and you’re gone, with no preparations or legacy to pass on from your life. No chance at love, or harmony. No sacredness to your exit. Just pure theft of the soul. Though he was surrounded by the rest of the school who were alive but defeated, that same theft of the soul remained. They were alive, but at what cost?

A bird flew through the darkness of the sky as the sun hid its face in shame. Shame for what was allowed. Shame for what will come. Pure, daunting shame. How desperately Draco wished he could be like the bird. Touching the sky, touching freedom. Perfect clouds and storms would wash him of the evil that would soon come. Oh, how he wished.

In the distance, the menacing crowd could be seen approaching like soldiers in horrific unison. The sea of black was nothing compared to the man guiding them towards their next feat. Voldemort neared the student body with an unbalanced and chaotic sense of euphoria and disbelief. His bare feet brushed and stepped over stone, shards of glass and other forms of debris as he stalked over with a pride that resembled a predator successfully capturing its prey. From the bottom of his pale feet, a fresh trail of blood marked his every footprint, though the Dark Wizard was far too drunk on his defeat to even notice. A sickening grin was plastered on his face, revealing his rows of rotted teeth from victory. A victory for Hell. The sky above them, once bright and hopeful, seemed to have turned dark with the presence of the Dark Lord, and even darker as Harry’s lifeless body in Hagrid’s arms became visible to the rest of the Hogwarts students.

After growing nearer and keeping a solid distance between himself and the others, the dark lord glanced back at the boy laying in the giant’s grip, and faced them once more. Like a child showcasing his prized artwork, Voldemort threw his arms wide open, the elder wand in tow, as he smiled at the terrified crowd.

“Harry Potter is dead.”

The crowd didn’t move, fearing the unknown as it had now been confirmed, except for Ginny Weasley down belong who attempted running towards the giant in desperation. Draco winced at the action, noticing her crave for love and her bravery. Now more than ever, she displayed herself as a true Gryffindor, though it were a completely unwise decision.

“No! No!” The girl screamed in shock, though the Weasley patriarch protectively snatched his daughter back.

“Silence!” Voldemort bellowed as he raised his wand to the redhead. “Foolish girl. Harry Potter is dead. From this day forward, you put your faith in me,” The Dark Wizard turned around and raised his wand to Harry. His body was lifeless but still remained stiff under the magic as Voldemort then tossed the boy to the grounds for proof. Harry’s body gave a small roll, much to the disturbance of the opposing onlookers, and lay face down. His clothes were tattered, and he was stained with dirt and grime from his fight. Voldemort let out another cackle this time, quite pleased with himself and turned to his followers. “Harry Potter is dead!”

As soon as his smile appeared, it stopped and Voldemort stood perfectly still, like a soldier almost. Draco knew this stance; he was preparing for something bigger, something far worse than the death of Harry. Something everyone that stood in his presence couldn’t expect. Not even Draco, himself.

The Dark Lord took a few steps further towards the many students and staff, and opened his mouth to speak once more.

“Join me. Half-bloods, denounce your dirty halves. Pure-Bloods who have defiled the sacredness of your ancestry, plead for forgiveness for your blood traitor ways. Mudbloods, surrender or die,” An unsettled quiet stirred amongst the entire courtyard as they listened. He was giving them a choice while at the same time not granting them a choice at all. Draco swallowed hard, his eyes shifting from Voldemort to his parents as they searched through the crowd for him. He knew they’d be united one day, but now wasn’t the time he wanted to be called out. Then, a thought so invasive and damning overtook his mental. Draco had no choice. It would never be about what he wanted ever again. Everything he would do from this moment on was for the favour of the Dark Lord. His eyes shifted to the fearsome wizard who held the most powerful wand in his hand. “No volunteers? Pity. I call on my brothers and sisters to handle this manner appropriately.”

With a snap of his fingers, Voldemort and Nagini disapparated out of view with Harry’s body. The seconds before battle came with silence. No one dared to move, to speak out or talk. The unspeakable was soon to come, and everyone knew it. The idea of when, if not in five seconds, ten, or more, settled amongst each soul on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Neville was the first to walk forward, carrying a bag in his hand of some sort, and raised his wand. Draco hitched a breath at the action, and watched intently as it all unfolded in front of him.

“For Harry!”

A sound that rumbled the core of Draco’s dying soul filled the atmosphere as students and staffed charged forth, wands drawn as they met and fought with Death Eaters. Draco, on the other hand, stood ominously still on the stairs, untouched and unshaken by the people charging past him. While he knew he was standing on the side of Hogwarts, it was clear which side he knew he had to be on, even if he weren’t necessarily happy with the expectation. And so, as students and Death Eaters fought, some disapparating from the scene and fleeing, his eyes locked on familiar red hair and the Muggle-born witch standing nearby. They were standing back-to-back, firing off curses and spells, dodging others, all while together as Draco merely watched.

It was all he could do in a situation as hopeless as this.

A corpse flew backwards near where he stood and landed on the stairs, a hard crack bringing Draco to his full attention. A Death Eater that Draco hadn’t recognized was laying there, blood trickling from the back of his head as his eyes peered open as though admiring the sky. Draco could’ve sworn he saw his soul leave his body on impact, though tore his eyes away from the sight. He couldn’t bear to see anymore death today, though he knew it were inevitable.

Now feeling a sense of urgency, Draco hopped from the steps, wand drawn as he tried his best to dodge any eye contact, but froze once hearing his name.

“Draco! Draco come to me!”

The sound echoed in his brain and nearly over the commotion of the battle. Draco turned his head to see his father holding his mother back, tears streaming down her face as they then apparated out of the courtyard. Whether it be instinct or fear in that moment, Draco sprinted towards the remnants of magic left behind by their departure, but proved too slow to make it.

Draco hadn’t realized it then when he was running, but he was now in the midst of the crossfires, dodging spells and curses tossed at nearly every angle. His heart began to race at the closeness of proximity to death so frequently that he took notice of how close her were to the Gryffindor couple now. They were no longer back to back, but now simply fighting near one another, both seeming to be growing tired from an energetic and emotional drain of the day. But just past them, with full rage and fury in his eyes was Finnigan, wand aimed directly at Draco with a willingness to cause any sort of mayhem needed. Draco knew that if any curse were to come out of his wand without proper focus, he would die, even if it weren’t the boy’s intentions.

“STUPEFY!” Seamus commanded. The red light began to flow from the Gryffindor’s wand. In a fit of desperation, Draco leapt forth and out of the way of the charm. A heap of brown locks crowded Draco’s vision as he hit the floor of the courtyard for a brief moment. He reached his arms out to push whomever was in his way, but could still feel his hands on them just as he apparated quickly from the scene.

Laying on the ground felt all too peaceful, and for a brief moment as he lay on his back, Draco thought he had dreamt it all. But alas, he did not. The new and pure air that filled his nostrils, though fresh, was no match for the bitterness of death in the back of his throat, on his tongue, and behind his minds eye.

A deafening silence came over him as the familiar outdoorsy scent welcomed him with a cool breeze. This was all the confirmation he needed that told him he was now where he needed to be. Yet, that didn’t mean he was no longer afraid to open his eyes and confirm this. So, he laid there, his mind foggy and confused from the apparating, and his body sore and achy from his fall. But he knew, without a doubt, that he had brought somebody with him.

Finding all the courage left within him, the blond boy’s eyes shot open. Draco turned to face whomever was nearby, and gasped when seeing Granger laying unconscious, facing away from him. The delicate features on her face were untouched, except for a scar that decorated her right temple from her fall. Draco inched away from her body with fear, uncertain if she were dead or not, and stood up quickly. This was perhaps the quietest he had ever seen the Muggle-born witch, and now he wasn’t sure if her silence was permanent.

Draco peered through the large gates, tall and surrounded by large hedges on either side of the path leading to the front door of Malfoy Manor and noticed movement just down the way. Two Death Eaters apparated towards him and grabbed at his shirt collar firmly.

“Who are you?” Yaxley, spoke up. Although his encounter with the Death Eater was easily the least menacing encounter that Draco faced today, it was enough to have him fold under the pressure, and fast. Tears burned his eyes from the rough grip and he tried his hardest to not glance at the potentially lifeless body laying in the ground near them.

“D-Draco. Draco Malfoy.” He stuttered while trying to force back the tears.

“Who are you really?”

“It’s me I swear it! It’s Draco!”

“Then who is he?”

Yaxley proceeded to point at his accomplice. The man was tall and dark, glaring at the young man as he studied his face carefully. At sheer mentioning, the man took his wand out from his inner pocket and pointed it at his nephew. Rodolphus Lestrange stood by eagerly, searching him with his eyes only for any sign of changes. Though they were related, Draco could never pick a moment where he had actually talked to the man. He could remember growing up and wondering why Bellatrix was married to him if she didn’t care for him in that way. Why marry if not for love? Lucius and Narcissa did an awful job at describing how marriage was for a purpose, not necessarily for love. It was a duty; a contract. Though, Draco foolishly thought that perhaps love marriages could be more common if he weren’t apart of such a dutiful family like his own. Then, the thought of not being associated with them at all seemed far more unattractive.

“M-My uncle. Lestrange.”

The two men eyed him carefully and grabbed his arm, revealing the Dark Mark. The cool wind touched his skin and burned the mark that hadn’t necessarily healed yet. Though, once they were convinced it was him, they patted the boy in a rough form of comfort and relaxed. Yaxley left the two to themselves as he then walked over carefully to the young witch laying unconscious.

“Sorry, Draco. We didn’t want to risk it on the off chance that it were someone under Polyjuice Potion,” Rodolphus spoke. The older man tried to smile, which revealed itself as a difficult task for him, and let his eyes graze over to the girl laying nearby. “Who’s this?”

Draco forced himself to turn around at his uncle’s question, and watched Yaxley check her pulse.

“Whoever she is, she’s alive.”

Draco swallowed hard, unsure what to feel at this moment in time. It was all too fresh and still fuzzy in his mind. How did he manage to bring _her_ with him? Of all people! He didn’t even mean to. But alas, she was here, alive and unconscious.

“Granger. Hermione Granger,” He spoke carefully, still not believing the sight before him. Yaxley and Lestrange looked at the young man, clearly not understanding the significance of her name as Draco had spoken it. How strange. He was so used to being second best in nearly everything with Hermione in terms of school work, and she was known for being apart of Harry Potter’s friend group. But to be faced with two people who couldn’t place her was…odd. “She was best friends with Potter. Muggle-born.”

A brightness came to both of the men’s faces at the revelation, and they neared him slowly. Had he not been in the midst of a war, he would’ve thought they were about to present him with good news. But he knew deep down that having Hermione here was anything but that.

“Good work, son!” Lestrange commended with a strong pat landing on Draco’s aching frame. He winced a bit from the touch and watched as Yaxley handled the girl with anything but grace. He tossed her over his shoulder, her long brown hair flopping from the movements, and turned to face the uncle and nephew.

“Come now, Draco. We must tell the Dark Lord.”

—-

It was difficult for Draco to understand sometimes how easy it was for people to deflect something they had grown up learning. Values and morals are some of the most important things that molded a young witch and wizard into who they were, and yet there are still Pure-bloods and Half-bloods who insist on mingling with Mudbloods. Draco never flinched when being called out for his prejudices. It never bothered him one bit. He knew that sometimes people tried to act posh and proper by not upholding Pure-blood loyalties, and for that he considered them to be weak. But beside that, he knew wholeheartedly that this was how he was raised, and how he would raise his children when the time came. This was how he was meant to lead his life, with continuous blood purity. This was how the world was meant to be. And yet, while he held these strong values, he didn’t see the necessity in killing them for simply being.

The whole drawing room was quiet, far too quiet, as the Dark Lord sat in silent joy for his accomplishments today. The elongated windows drew in the evening sky, a dark gray cascading into the room to finish off the reminder of this day of death. How could a sky be so quiet? Once loud and promising with its array of hues as the sun set, it was now anything but. In fact, it were the complete opposite. Dull. Dismal. Same as earlier, and perhaps the same forever considering the weight of the new world.

Voldemort stood up from his seat at the head of the table, and tapped his elder wand once on the back of each attendees chair. His footsteps were slow and dragged along the tiled floor eerily, as though he were tired. No, that couldn’t be. The Dark Lord was rarely tired. He never tired when he planned on fulfilling his purpose. Draco removed the thought from his head and kept his focus on the spot on the table in front of him, and felt his presence grow nearer with each step. Then, when reaching the person he wanted, he stopped behind their chair.

“Crabbe,” Voldemort spoke, his voice shrill as though he were upset despite the fact that he were completely successful. “I was told that you successfully slaughtered a Mudblood today and took his brother captive. Dennis Creevey, is that right?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Crabbe’s voice was shaky. It was obvious that terror took precedence before all other emotions, and understandably so. The Dark Lord struck fear in everybody, even the bravest men.

“And done so soon after losing your son. I want you to know, friend, that his death is not in vain. You have made your son proud,” The Dark Lord paused for a moment and looked out to the table as the rest of the Death Eaters sat in silent loyalty. “None of my fallen followers shall be forgotten. We must all remember them, even my most valued servant, Bellatrix.”

Draco didn’t care for his aunt’s death as much as he thought that he would. There were some moments where he felt tender towards her, noticing that she was trying her best to protect him, but her loyalty to Voldemort when his parents were willing to sometimes bend his rules did make him wonder if she ever would betray them for him. Still, the most damning death of all that had touched him beyond measure, was that of his childhood friend. He couldn’t bear to reimagine Crabbe falling to his death into the flames that erupted in the Room of Requirements, but he did. He saw it right before him as his eyes focused on the table they all sat as, as though he were reliving it. It had only been a few hours since it occurred, thus the vision was particularly fresh. But what burned him even further was the fact that he was also so close to death in that very moment, and had avoided it all because of…

“Draco,” Voldemort’s settled uncomfortably in the young man’s head. He had clearly zoned out and hadn’t yet realized how easily the Dark Lord crept upon him. The strained voice startled him, making him jump briefly from the call out, and tried to relax under his mother’s comforting hand on his lap. “I hear that you have pleasantly surprised me. You’ve brought me a Mudblood as well.”

The words could barely formulate on Draco’s tongue, leaving only a fair bit of room to let out a meek and frail, “Yes, my Lord.”

A heavy hand placed itself upon Draco’s shoulder, and he knew instantly that the darkest wizard in history was behind him, menacingly even when he were pleased with his followers. Draco hesitated to look up for a moment, afraid that he would see the Dark Lord sitting directly across from him while he stood behind him. Yet, he needed the reassurance that his fear wasn’t only felt within him. His blue eyes met Pansy’s who was staring at him from across the table, her father equally as quiet and obedient as they could be in this moment. This disgustingly huge and big monumental moment was being placed entirely on his shoulders.

“And Draco, would you care to share with us who this filth is?”

“Granger,” Draco spoke, trying to put on more confidence than he knew he had within him. “Hermione Granger, my Lord.”

“That’s right!” Voldemort spoke, pressing off the boy as he nearly bounced back in joy. As a matter of fact, though Draco wasn’t looking at him, he was almost certain that’s what occurred. A sickening laugh grew from behind him as the Dark Wizard then moved two chairs down to his father. “The friend to the dead boy who lived.”

A few of the Death Eaters chuckled at the analogy. Draco was positive that neither of them found any humour in his antics. They simply didn’t want to be the odd man out. His family was well-versed in that department. Thus, right when Draco found himself particularly drained from any more of Voldemort’s doing, what with the events that occurred already, he found himself alert once more when the hearing him snap his fingers.

Everyone’s eyes darted to the entrance of the drawing room, as they waited a minute or maybe two, until soon, the figure of the young woman came into full view. Hermione was levitating slowly, her dark brown hair flowing and seemingly caught in the slow-motion of the magic surrounding her. She was awake, and alive. That much was certain. But more than anything, she was terrified.

There were scratches and tatters along her clothing, evidence from when Draco had landed on her after his attempt to apparate away from the courtyard. The longer he stared at her, the more ill he felt himself become. It was his fault that she were here, and he knew that the Dark Lord had sinister plans for the Muggle-born witch hovering towards him. Soon, her body stopped its slowly journey through the drawing room, and levitated just in front of Draco’s seat. It was at this moment that he knew his life were about to change.

“Behold, my brothers and sisters. The most skilled Mudblood imaginable captured by the Malfoy boy!” Voldemort’s voice was full of sarcastic glee as he opened his arms wide to reveal his second most valuable prize—one of his strongest ties to Harry Potter. “Lucius, you must be so proud of your son’s accomplishments. At least now I know I can rely on one Malfoy to do their job.”

The whole drawing room was quiet now, to Draco’s contentment. He pleaded—no—begged internally for his father to not speak. To not make a peep nor a sound. Not even shoot a look at the Dark Lord, for fear of angering him. Though he did so, without hearing his son’s silent desperation.

“V-Very proud, my lord.”

“I did not ask you to speak,” Voldemort’s voice was loud, shaking the entire manor and its century old walls. The girl levitating before Draco let out a small whimper of fear, a damning uncertainty that Voldemort’s voice would be the last thing she heard before she died. What an awful sound to die to. Draco, however, never took his focus off of the table in which they all sat. And as he sat in all of his fear and anxiety, a small droplet fell from up above and landed just on the spot where he stared. He knew the source, but dared not to look at Hermione’s body. Then, a feeling most eerie and dreadful washed over Draco as he felt Voldemort’s presence behind him once more. “Go on, Draco. This is your moment. Take your wand and finish the job. But you must be precise and you must mean it. Otherwise it is useless.”

The seat from underneath Draco shifted at how swiftly he stood from the nerves running wild in his body. He forced himself to stare Hermione, which drew every last bit of breath from his being. In all the years he had known her, he had never seen her in such a way. She was a mere shadow of the confident, bright girl he envied when he were younger. Instead, she was dim, gray, and evidently being eaten from the inside out by grief, fear, and pain.

Draco raised his wand quickly, as though he were fully confident, though everyone at the table could tell he were not. Though his face were pained and focused, his hands told another story. He was trembling, or borderline shaking from the idea of killing someone. And better yet, someone he had grown up with, despite their spats and differences. If he had it his way, Draco would’ve married Pansy Parkinson by now and they’d be living their lives the way that he intended for it to be. There were times, multiple times in fact, throughout the war and even just before it, when he figured he could possibly get away with fleeing the country. If it weren’t for Pansy not wanting to leave her father, he was certain they could be elsewhere by now. But that proved to be more of a pipe dream than an actual plan. Draco’s eyes quickly shifted to the girl in question and took note of the horror in her eyes, despite her mouth resting in a stoic line. Beside her was her father, who seemed just as disturbed as she were, but not nearly as brave to watch the sight. Who could blame them? After a while, it just seems like Death is far too common.

With all eyes on him, the wand began to shake a bit more, as he felt the air lifting quickly from his lungs. He tried his best to keep his eyes on something far less emotional on the girl. The magenta sweater with a few random dirt spots was the perfect distraction. Who else was wearing this same sweater? A girl going to sneak off and visit her boyfriend? Perhaps someone gifting it to a younger sibling that had soon been outgrown and tossed in the trash? The possibilities were endless, but none of them calmed him from the impending doom he faced on the wearer before him who waited for him to do his worse.

“Unless you have no stomach for it, that is. Tell me, boy.”

It was true. Draco didn’t have the stomach for it. No matter how much he detested Hermione growing up, he didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t want to kill anybody. He secretly wished he hadn’t apparated her to his home. She was now stuck between a rock and a hard place, just like he was. Either he killed her, or he refused and be killed. His life was worth more than hers, surely, but still. He couldn’t do it. Subconsciously he found himself lowering the wand, and bit his cheek as he thought. His mind raced incessantly. Time was running out. He needed an idea, and a good one to keep him and her alive. And so, he spoke out.

“My Lord, if I may suggest something,” Draco spoke, his voice trembling at his sudden act of courage. The Dark Wizard who was standing behind his father now, placed a tight hand on his shoulder, as though holding down his own prey. The demented man flashed his rotted teeth again as his face twisted in a curious grin. Draco could feel his heart beating nearly out of his chest. The quickened thump against his sternum was almost louder than his voice was, and with the returned silence from the rest of the room, he slowly lowered his wand. “H-hermione has been the smartest witch in my year. Maybe even the entire school. I-I think that it w-would be wise if we kept her a-a-alive. She could prove useful to your ascension, considering how close she was to Potter.”

Voldemort’s grip softened off of Lucius’ shoulder as he stalked over to Draco knowingly, circling him for a moment as the rest of those in attendance watched with bated breath. The blonde wizard shook furiously from his speech, and reached an all-time peak when he found himself toe-to-toe with the Dark Wizard.

“Use her,” His voice was in a short sort of curiosity. He searched the blonde boy’s eyes, seeing traces of exhaustion, but also determination. Determination to do anything but use his wand in the worse possible way imaginable. “I rather like that idea.”

So the Dark Lord gave one final look to Draco, one that accepted his answer for now, but couldn’t accept any other protests later on as his reign progressed. This, Draco knew without having it being said to him. He knew that it was a miracle to have gotten himself out of this situation, but feared that it had been too easy to have done so. And as he watched Nott escort the levitating young witch back down to the cellar with the other live Muggle-borns, he couldn’t help but wonder how the Dark Lord planned on using Hermione to his advantage. He wondered if he singlehandedly ruined her life for his own selfish comfort, but tossed that idea out as quickly as it came in.

He was alive and free from that ghastly task of ending her life. That’s all that Draco wanted. That’s all that he cared about.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it’s T. I’ve had this idea for a fanfic in the back of my head for a while now, and before I even progressed with SOSN, my other Dramione fic, I had to at least get this one out of my head to see how this would be received. For those that know me from my other story, I have felt like it’s not necessarily going in the direction I’ve wanted it to go in, and so I planned on taking a brief hiatus from my other fic to do something more thrilling and challenging just to get my mojo back for that one. But, in the mean time, I’m trying my best to put in my love for writing into a different area of this ship. And alas, let’s see if it sails. Thanks for reading. Xx


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